Sleep quietly, my child,
The moon is bright and mother is tired,
She has a long day,
The food won’t cook itself.
Hush my child, you’re too loud,
Mother can’t hear the demons in her head.
There there now, what is the need to cry?
You’re reminding mother of catharsis,
Of loud screams, anathema to her now,
Sleep now, before the sky is orange,
So mamma can get her ten winks.

Walk softly little girl,
Don’t tap your feet too loud,
You’re hurting the grass with your tender feet,
And deafening the wind with your impish cackle.
Don’t talk to strange men,
Unless they come calling to your house.
Why do you squeal?
Uncle just loves you too much.
A whimper is okay,
See how beautiful whispers are?
Don’t scream so loud, you boy,
Father will get you a new bat next summer,
Just don’t tell your friends,
He might whack you once with it.
Once a week, or once a day,
But really, why are you so loud?
Daddy’s just sad and a little bit mad,
He’s carrying the world on his shoulder,
And no one taught him how to talk.

Don’t run so fast, young lady,
Your brother will follow whe re you lead.
They saw him smoking in the corner,
Pampered brat, has he no respect?
His eyes are hollow, he looks lost,
His cough is too noisy,
Hiding the weight in his tiny heart.
Yet they can barely hear him over your legs.
Cover up, cover up now.
You are too bright to the ears,
Your eyes ask too many questions.
Your body has too many answers,
To fill emptiness that isn’t yours.

Don’t beat so hard, dear heart,
They can hear you.
Don’t speak too piercing, dear lips,
No one cares.
There is too much noise,
And too few ears.
Cover up now,
Your sleeves are long enough,
Your scars are a sore sight.
Catch your tears, before they hit the ground,
Everyone is in a rush,
There is no space in this emptiness .
Be strong, be strong,
You can’t break,
You can’t afford to,
There’s no one to hold you,
You aren’t strong enough to hold your self.

Hide your skin, dim your shine,
There are too many hungry eyes,
Hold your tongue, check your feelings,
There are too many empty minds.
Stop talking, stop spewing,
Nobody has the time
Your words are falling like bullets,
On the ground,
Aimlessly, without a mark.
Impotent, useless,
There is no war to fight.
Madonna was worng,
Don’t express yourself.
Are you dumb or is the world deaf?
Does it really matter?

Speak softly, dear child,
Or better, don’t don’t speak at all.
Maybe scream too loud,
I know there is too much pain,
Maybe scream too loud,
But who will hear you?
Who even wants to.
Scream too loud
Or don’t scream at all,
It’s like Gandalf said
‘We cannot get out’
There’s no way out.
Help isn’t coming
There is no one coming.


25 Questions

Have you ever had so much to say and you made no noise?

Have you had so much to write but all the ink in this world wasn’t enough to fill the anguish in your heart?

Have you seen an empty sheet of paper but your hands refused to give life to the words you’re desperate to scream?

Have you felt everything and nothing?

Have you cried when you didn’t want to?

Have you choked when you wanted to burst?

Have you missed someone when they were right next to you?

Have you felt loneliness that crippled you?

Have you sat wide awake at 3:34 AM desperate for a kindred spirit, a touch, for anything that could bring you back to life?

Have you felt empty even as emotions filled your lungs?

Have you lied even as your eyes begged to be found out?

Have you hidden your darkness behind a smile?

Have you wanted to disappear and wondered if there would be a you shaped hole in the world, filled by the mundane?

Have you opened your soul to someone?

Have you shown someone your ugly scars?

Have you begged someone to stay?

Have you wanted to run so bad but your legs wouldn’t move and you’re stuck in limbo trying to fight your arms that refuse to let go of pain?

Have you clawed your eyes out until they bled?

Have you fought losing battles?

Have you watched someone disappear slowly, a little bit everyday, a little more every minute?

Have tears blotched your frenzied writing?

Have you watched everything fall apart with a sense of impending doom, helpless to stop?

Have you held on the telephone line, long after it goes dead, watching life slip through your fingers?

Tell me, have you been in love?

Tell me, did you truly survive it?



I think life doesn’t give you happy endings. Just moments .

Little things suspended in time. Stolen. Golden. For a moment the world is in perfect harmony. 

It’s been a lazy day so far. 

I had nothing to do. Nothing to cram for, no place to rush to. One of those days where I could stay in bed all day and not have a panic attack about procrastinating important things.

It’s a weird thing. When you’ve been running, worrying, obsessing and falling apart for so long, you quite forget how to take a break, from the world and from your own head.

And then it snowed. The road glistened golden under the lights and the world turned magical.

It started snowing and I had nothing to do. After an incredibly long time, I could watch something beautiful happen outside my window,  make myself some hot chocolate, kick back with some trashy love story that will inevitably end with me crying to someone who has to put up with my drama for a long long time. Without guilt. Without worrying about wasting time, wasting my life away.

It was beautiful. For a moment everything just stopped whirring inside my head.

This moment was exquisite. I will think of it when I go to bed tonight and at other times in declining frequency. And with pain when things fall apart, as I stop believing in shooting stars for a little while. 

But it’s these moments that catch me unawares, that sustain me. It’s like a friendly wave at the end of a long day that doesn’t seem to end.

Somehow as long as I have these little things, once in a while, life will never seem unenchanting.

And as for the happy endings, who really needs them when you have your face pressed against the window, trying to count the snowflakes with dreams in your eyes, at the edge of a world full of possibilities? 

Why do you write?

‘Why do you write?’, you ask me.

How do I tell you?

That sometimes I wake up,

In the middle of the night,

With dreams in my fingertips ,

An ache in heart,

And a certain magic has to be captured,

Before its lost forever.

How do I explain?

That sometimes I go color blind,

To the rainbow,

I don’t feel rain drops,

On my skin anymore,

And my mind is loud with a silence,

That drowns my screams.

Will you snort with derision?

If I told you,

That sometimes I have an urge,

To wear a flowery gown,

Dance in golden ballrooms,

Wear stars in my hair,

And the moon on my neck

Without my two left feet.

Will you understand?

If I told you,

That sometimes I go really quiet,

When it’s sunset,

And have a sudden craving,

For the strawberry flavored ice cream,

My father used to buy on lazy Sundays,

After I finish my homework.

I see you roll your eyes,

As I explain that I once met a stranger,

On the road, wearing his cologne,

I was scared to breathe,

Because all I could smell was him,

And I buried myself in the covers,

Later that night,

Trying to peel the need off my skin.

But query me this?

Can you tell me what dawn tastes like?

What sleep looks like?

The beauty of a certain ray of sunshine,

On faded blue glass?

The depth of a mind,

Drowning in itself,

As the room becomes smaller

And the heart heavier?

Go on tell me,

Do you know the magic,

Of an empty sheet of paper,

And ink that commits,

A piece of your soul to words,

Even as the abyss you see,

Threatens to eat you whole?

‘Why do you write?, you ask me.

How do I tell you?

That sometimes I cease to exist,

And it’s words that pump life into me.

‘Why do you write?’ , you ask me.

Tell me, what will you say,

If I asked you,

‘Why do you breathe?’

Map, for you to me.

Write me a poem,

With your tongue against my skin.

Undress me some more,

With your eyes.

I’ve held these secrets too long,

Too tightly, too close.

Peel them away from my flesh,

Maybe I’ll show you,

Where it hurts the most.

There’s a hurricane in my chest,

Tearing me apart,

I hold on to the bed stand,

Fighting demons that aren’t mine.

Can you see the storm building,

In my eyes,

Can you feel my pulse?

I hear you outside my door,

I smell you in my hair.

I wear you like a second skin,

Terrified to believe,

Terrified to lose.


Put your hands on me,

Claim me.

I’ve waited far too long,

For salvation that comes with pain.

For your force,

To bend my will,

To your whim.

I’m a puppet in your hands,

I’m fire,

And you fan my flames,

To a frenzy,

I haven’t known before.

I feel your pace,

In my heart beat.

Your breath hot against my being,

Oh baby, break me some more,

Before you leave.

Maybe I’ll build myself back,

From the rubble your hands made me.

The black and blue lines,

You left on my soul,

Maybe that is the map,

That’ll lead you back home.

To my arms.

Does he?

This boy.

Tell me, how does he make you feel?

Not on dates,

When you’re dressed to kill,

The yellow lights making your skin sparkle

Just like the look in his eye.

But on busy Monday mornings,

When the day doesn’t seem enough,

And you don’t have a minute to blink.

Not on moonlit 3 AMs,

When his lips are pressed against your chest,

One hand in your hair,

The other weaving magic on your body.

But on Wednesday nights,

Your hair oily and skin lacklustre,

When you explain in clear tones,

Why he is wrong.

Not when you’re calling him first,

To tell you what made you happy today,

Or what broke your heart,

Your voice high with emotion,

Your breath uneven.

But on lazy Saturday afternoons,

When you don’t feel too much of anything

When you’re just content,

To lie on the bed with a book.

Tell me,

Does he kiss your everyday thoughts,

As intensely as that freckle on your neck?

Tell me,

Does he know the depths of your mind,

As well as the corners of your mouth?

Tell me,

Does he like listening to your day,

Your mundane everyday,

As much as your voice in his ear,

Calling his name?

Dear girl, tell me,

This boy,

If he doesn’t find magic,

In your ordinary,

Does he deserve your magic at all?


I walk out of my room,

My head heavy,

The only thing messier than my bed.

Hair standing on its ends,

From my fingers tracing it’s root,

Pulling it out.

Maybe I should tell you.

That I’ve been through hell and back.

That sometimes all I see is in monochrome.

Maybe I should make you see,

That the red on my skin doesn’t wash away,

That my heart beating out of habit,

Doesn’t really beat sometimes. 

How do I tell you?

When its the smell of your skin,

Your aftershave in the bathroom stand,

Your tie hanging off the edge of my wardrobe,

Are all that reminds me I’m still alive?

How do I make you see?

When it’s your voice singing my favorite songs off key,

The sound of you in the kitchen,

Burning yet another toast,

Your heartbeat against my chest,

Is all I hear when the night seems too loud?

I grit my teeth,  

I stand up straight, 

I steel my resolve,

Today I set you free.

Maybe you’re whole enough,

For the two of us,

But darling, I’m messed up for a million.

I walk out of my room,

I see you at the table,

Pouring yourself some orange juice.

So normal, so regular, so magical.

Your shirt crumpled,

Your head messier than mine.

You turn around,

You give me a half smile,

The gap in your teeth,

Achingly familiar to my tongue.

You look at me.

You know what I want you to do,

I know what you will never do.

If I asked you to run from me,

You’d plant your feet stronger on the ground.

I stand there for a moment.

Trying to hold your sunshine in my palm,

Trying to fill your sunshine in my being.

For a second last night seems like another life time.

For a second,  your existence seems to fill all the holes in mine. 

You shake your head,

As you walk towards me.

For a second, I believe in forever.

For a second I’m alright.